#shortakiweek2017

[meli-productions]

Soulmates

It’s so late, but I got it in on time!

Day 6: Soulmates

Gertrude Shortman was a lot of things: eccentric, a troublemaker, sometimes confused. But she was by no accounts an idiot…or as confused as her family liked to think. And she might wear glasses, but she was far from blind.

“Kimba,” she said waving her spoon towards him. “What’s with that face? What’s the matter?”

Arnold sunk deeper into the chair, his arms wound tight around his chest as the pout jutted out more, “Grandma, did you ever have to deal with someone that made you--frustrated?”

Gertie smiled and tapped her chin with the spoon, the chili sticking on the skin, “Hmmm…well, I guess there was this one person--when I was young.”

At that, Arnold perked back up, “Really?”

She nodded, “Yeah, but there’s not really a story or anything there if that’s what you’re expecting there, Kimba.”

He drooped back down, “Oh.”

“Yeah, but there are other stories I could tell if that’s what’s gonna make you feel better,” she said and turned back to stir her pot of chili. The sound of the chair moving towards her brought a smile to her face.

“What stories?” Arnold asked, eyes wide and bright when she turned around.

Gertie put down the spoon and the top of the pot so it would simmer. She leaned against the counter and smiled down at her grandson.

“There’s this one story that my grandmother used to tell me when I was just a little bit older than you,” Gertie started with a small smile. “She always told me how you could tell who your soulmate was…at least according to old myths and legends and all those stories of the past times.”

“Soulmates? What’cha talking about, Grandma?” Asked Arnold, his brows knitting together in confusion.

“Soulmates,” Gertie said, hands raising over her heads as she looked heavenwards. “The essence of two people that are completely and utterly meant for each other.” She looked down and saw the awed look on his grandson’s face so she continued, “There are stories that say that these kind of people were are two souls that complement each other to the point where they are almost merged as one. They’re very likely.”

Arnold opened his mouth a little, a gasp escaping his mouth, “Really?”

Gertie chuckled, “Oh, but that’s not you, Arnold,” she took a pause as she saw the disappointment settle on his face. “Oh, no. I think you’re destined for a little more than that.”

The smile returned to the boy’s face as he leaned in to listen closer, literally, “What do you mean?”

“Well, the two souls type is more for someone like your Mom and Dad who kept crashing into each other, sometimes a little literally, but for someone like you Granny Etta had something more complicated, something she said she’d only seen every two generations.”

He frowned and he mouthed a few things before brightening, “Two generations means me. And you?”

She hummed and shrugged, “Ah, Kipendi, there’s only the speculation but not the concrete details. Now do you want to hear about the kind of soulmates I think you’ve got?”

Arnold nodded, the small blue cap almost slipping from his head. Gertie laughed and continued, “The other kind was described originally one soul that had been split into two different people. That while they would be independent individuals that would thrive on their own, being together would complete their hearts and souls.”

She saw that there was a little twinkle in his eyes and she kept going, “These kind of soulmates are the kind that have known each other for, oh, probably since they were children. They say that their war cries could be heard across the battlefields so that the other could know if they were in pain or need.”

There was a twitch at his eyebrow, green eyes growing distant with thought.

“Sometimes they know each other so well,” Gertie continued, “that they know things no one else had ever realized about them. And no one really understands the draw for each other. They bring out each other’s softer side--or fiercer side…”

A goofy smile started curling on Arnold’s lips, and she chuckled, standing up and distracting him from his thoughts, “But what do I know, Kimba, it was just a story.”

She opened the pot and started stirring the chili again, the sound of the heating pot the only noise in the kitchen. Then from the corner of her eye she saw Arnold’s crown of blond hair.

“Grandma,” he asked, “do you think soulmates are real?”

Before she could respond, Phil came waltzing into the kitchen, newspaper tucked under his arm, “Pookie, when’s the food gonna be done. I’m starving.”

She laughed, “In a few minutes, mon capitan.” Then she turned to Arnold, who was still watching her with wide and hopeful eyes, “Yes, Arnold, I absolutely do.”

[meli-productions]

Tying the Ribbon

Day 7: Ribbon

As she got older the whole ‘ribbon’ thing started getting old. Plus, her hair had started to grow out and thicker and it would get stuck and tangle the strands more than they probably should. But it was special. No matter what Rhondaloid said, she couldn’t just get rid of it altogether.

So she started mixing it up. Sometimes she wore it around her neck as a choker, tied up at the side as a bow. Or sometimes around her wrist or others tied around her locket or on her backpack, anywhere to keep it on her.

Other times, there just wasn’t time and so she’d carry it in her hand and worry the soft silk under her fingers.

“Helga,” Phoebe said, sitting next to her on the bus, “you want me to tie that somewhere?”

She turned tired eyes towards her friend and gave her a small smile, “Nah, don’t worry about it Pheebs. I think I’m just gonna hold it today.”

“It’s getting kinda worn out,” mumbled Phoebe looking at the fading pink. She remembered when it was bright and would pop out in Helga’s blonde hair. Now it was washed out and fraying at the ends.

Helga gave a thoughtful hum before tucking the ends around her fist, “Yeah, I know. But when have I ever known to let dead things lie?”

Phoebe rolled her eyes as they changed the subject, talking about the schoolwork and projects they had to do for the coming week.

Arnold’s eyes remained on Helga, narrowing as they scanned over her features.

Something’s different.

Gerald, sitting next to Arnold eyed his friend and then back at the center of his attention. He took in the determined furrow of his brow and the tip of his tongue peeking out as he started thinking harder.

“Arnold, my man,” Gerald said, nudging the boy. “If you don’t stop staring you’re gonna get punched in the face.”

Arnold rolled his eyes, “She’s not gonna punch me, Gerald.”

“Then why are you staring at Helga G. Pataki?”

“There’s something…missing,” he said, turning his attention back to the blonde girl that was chuckling about something that Phoebe had told her.

Gerald gave a slight snort, “Arnold, I know that you’re kinda slow, but haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“What?”

“She’s not wearing her ribbon, dude. She hasn’t worn her ribbon in her hair for months.”

Arnold’s mouth dropped open a little as his eyes locked at the crown of her head. Then his eyes lowered to her neck, then to her wrist until they landed on the slim slip of light pink in her hand. The frayed edges of the ribbon drew his attention and a tiny huff escaped his lips.

“It’s…old,” he said. He could vaguely remember the bright pink in the middle of a storm and the little girl under it getting soaked to the bone.

His friend shrugged, “Well, yeah, she’s worn it everyday since Pre-K…she loves that thing more than she loves knocking our blocks.”

Arnold turned another annoyed face at Gerald and felt something tug at his stomach, “There’s just something wrong about Helga without her ribbon. It’s like…”

“You without your hat? Me without my suave?” asked Gerald.

It was Arnold’s turn to snort, “Sure, Gerald.” Then he was serious again. “But…you’re on the right track.”

It was a week later and Helga was twisting the ribbon around her wrist, a nervous habit she had begun to have. Now it burned with the feeling of Arnold’s fingers ghosting over her skin and the thin ribbon.

“Why did you have to drag me away from everyone, Football Head? What gives?” She huffed, hiding her blush with an irritated look.

Arnold rubbed the back of his neck, “Sorry, Helga. I just didn’t want anyone to see and…well, and get the wrong idea.”

“Sure, like dragging me away from everyone and behind a dumpster isn’t going to make people ‘get the wrong idea’.”

Arnold had the decency to blush as he pulled his backpack off, rifling through it until he pulled out a small rectangular box wrapped up in metallic, glittering paper. Before Helga could ask, he held it out at her, the blush on his face intensifying.

“Here.”

Helga’s frown deepened but she reached out and took the box from the boy, “What is this, Arnold?”

“Just…open it.”

Helga gave a little groan and tore the paper. Then looked at the top of the box for a second, back up at Arnold’s hopeful and open expression, and opened the box.

Curled up against the soft downy cotton filling of the little box laid a ribbon. The same length as her old one, she could tell just by looking at it and apparently the same material as she took it in her fingers and felt the soft silkiness. The only thing that was different was the brightness of the pink and the little gold stitching of an ‘H’ at the ends.

She took a sharp intake of air and curled the ribbon on her index finger. Then she turned wide, blue eyes at the boy in front of her.

“Arnold, what--”

“You haven’t been wearing your ribbon anymore,” he said, then gestured at her hand, “at least not in your hair. So I thought that maybe…if you have another one--”

Helga’s mouth dropped open, then she gathered her wits and gave a little breathless laugh, “You’re telling me that you bought me a new ribbon because--what, you missed me wearing my ribbon?”

He shuffled his feet a little, looking down at the dirt that was being kicked up, “I mean…it’s your ribbon. It’s a part of you. But…why shouldn’t you have a new one.”

“I think I’m a little too old to have a ribbon in my hair,” Helga said, her voice dry. “Plus, this one has…sentimental value.”

Arnold’s small smile fell, “Oh.”

“But,” Helga said, feeling a smile play on her lips, “I suppose I could make an exception every now and then.” As Arnold’s own face broke into a smile, Helga reached up and quickly tied the new ribbon into her hair.

She shook her head, though the smile remained, “Happy now, Football Head?”

The smile softened into a goofy one as he sighed, “Absolutely.”

[meli-productions]

A Series of Discoveries

Caught up again. 

Day Five: Discovery

Ever since FTi there were things that were starting to make sense. Things that hadn’t made sense before but now…things just happened to fall into place. 

 The first happened a week after the incident. Everyone knew about it. The April Fool’s Day dance…the tango…and the dip that followed had left everyone a little giddy and confused. But what Arnold discovered was the eventual hurt he caused.

Phoebe had herded Helga out of the pool while everyone enjoyed the impromptu swim. She wrapped a towel around the shivering Helga and bent in to ask her something. Helga responded with a quick shake of her head and muttered something back, eyes lowered at her hands.

Arnold had been watching them, the downward curve of her lips and the soft frown that was out of the ordinary on her face. She blinked a few times and leaned against Phoebe for a second, squeezing her friend’s hand before wiping her face.

He frowned and saw Phoebe scan the pool until she met his eye. She shook her head at him, a disappointed quirk of her lips. Helga followed her line of sight and Arnold saw the widening of her blue eyes before she tore her gaze away and let Phoebe pull her out of the gym.

There was a bitter taste in his mouth as he saw them walk out, Helga’s head drooping against her chest. Gerald shot him a look, but he just shook his head and pulled himself out of the water. 

The next was the shoe. Okay, he should’ve known this earlier but for some reason he just hadn’t put it together. After all, who else in town wore so much pink?

Gloria. His brain supplied and then he shook his head at the thought. Arnold peeked his head over the bus seat to listen in to Phoebe and Helga’s conversation.

“But why the dress, Helga?” Phoebe gushed as she felt the soft fabric of the sleeves.

Helga shrugged, “Rhonda threatened me about how this is a lady’s party so I should look like one. Figured I’d worn the other one to death and I’d use this one.”

“I’ve never seen this one before.”

“I’ve only worn it once,” Helga said, playing with the hem of the dress, “It was a--while back.”

“Well it looks very pretty,” Phoebe continued, reaching up to brush away a stray hair. “And you let your hair down…I thought you said that that was dangerous to do. Where’s your bow?”

Helga grabbed Phoebe’s hand and pulled it down, “I figured that since it’s just us girls, or whatever, I’d be safe to let down my hair.”

Arnold ducked his head as Helga scanned the bus, all of a sudden wide-eyed and panicked. Then Helga sighed and told Phoebe a quick, “It’s here. Thought I’d switch it up.”

Phoebe continued to gush about Helga’s appearance as Arnold poked his head back up and watched them. Helga was absentmindedly playing with the pink ribbon that was now tied in a bow around her neck as a choker. At something Phoebe said about Rhonda ‘loving the outfits’, Helga laughed.

“The only thing she’ll rag on are the shoes,” Helga said, scuffing the bottom against the bus floor. “I had a perfect pair…but I lost one of them.”

“Helga, how do you lose a shoe?”

Helga rolled her eyes, “A certain lovesick idiot stole it and it’s not like I can just ask for it back. That’d fly well. ‘Hey, you know that red shoe that you have in your closet, well it so happens to match the one in my closet. Probably just a coincidence.’”

Phoebe laughed and they continued their conversation as they got off the bus. Arnold watched them walk down to Rhonda’s house and then leaned back in his seat. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and thought back to that Valentine’s Day when he became the owner of a red shoe that was probably missing its other half. Of the long blonde hair that waved and shone. Of the soft pink dress and the pink bow atop Cecile’s head and--

He groaned. I’m an idiot.

But the last one is the one that made Arnold feel like he’d been hit over the head with a baseball.

“Arnold, could you help me back pass out these papers,” Mr. Simmons said, sticking a stack of papers out at him.

“Sure, Mr. Simmons.”

Arnold went row by row and returned the papers back to his classmates, struggling with the chicken scratch of some of them or the curlicue letterings of the other, but then he stopped.

Purple ink. Very familiar purple ink. The curl of an H. And an E. And an L…

He placed the sheet on Helga’s empty desk and hurried back to his seat, his brain working overtime to place the lettering and ink.

When he got home that afternoon, he ran up the stairs with a hurried hello to his grandparents, ignoring the calls from the different borders, and closed the door behind him. He jumped up and grabbed the tiny book still nestled between its neutral colored companions.

Arnold flipped through the little pink book and traced the purple letters: the Es and Ls and rarer Hs. And Helga’s voice echoed in his ear, Filling volumes of books with poems about you…

Arnold, my friend, you’re truly an idiot, said a voice that sounded surprisingly like Gerald. It’s a PINK book.

The little Gerald voice was right, he was an idiot. But a smile curled on his lips as he flipped through the pages, “At least I’m an inspiring idiot, right?”

[meli-productions]

Birthday Wishes

I know, I’m late again but I had a difficult day yesterday. I promise that I’ll post today’s too.

Day Four: Tears

There was no way she was going to cry. Absolutely not. So what if Olga’s sudden visit had fallen right on the week of her birthday which meant that once again her birthday was overlooked by something else and it’s not like they had promised that they’d--

Helga shook her head and blinked away the wetness around her eyes as she grabbed the baseball and tossed it up in the air a few times.

“Are we going to play or what?”

She met Phoebe’s sweet, sad stare from where she sat off the side and ducked her head,  “We’re wasting sunlight.”

The other kids grumbled as they took their positions around the diamond and Helga risked another look around the field. She met the furrowed-brow frown of Arnold and scowled.

“Let’s go,” she growled. “Batter up.”

There was something wrong. Something that had been wrong from the start of the week and had only gotten worse today.

How could he focus on this impromptu game when there was something seriously wrong?

“Hey, Football Head, head in the game,” hissed Helga from behind him.

Arnold turned a peripheral to look at her in time to catch the far off look in her eyes, then she blinked and glared up at him again.

“You’re gonna get beaned if you keep looking at me,” she said, but the fire from before was gone. Arnold met her glare with a frown before he turned back to the game.

At first base, he looked around at the rest of his friends. No one else seemed to be bother. No one else seemed to notice. Then he saw Phoebe sitting at the bench and worrying her bottom lip with a sad look on her face. She was looking at the home plate, at Helga, while the girl continued to call out plays.

Helga. It has to be something about Helga. But what?

Did something out of the ordinary happen? No. Well, Olga was home, he knew that, but there was something else.

The third strike. Arnold ran over to Phoebe with the excuse to grab water from the tub at her feet. She smiled up at him, a quick little twitch before she turned back to Helga. He followed her gaze.

“Hey, Phoebe, is there something wrong with Helga?”

Phoebe resumed biting her lip, “It’s…nothing you should worry about, Arnold.”

He frowned, tilting his head at her, “Phoebe.”

“It’s Helga’s birthday,” she answered with a sigh. “And with Olga around…”

Birthday. How could he forget? After what he had done last year…

Arnold didn’t need for her to finish, already he felt something spike in his blood as he looked out at Helga again. His hand clenched at his side, catching Phoebe’s attention.

“Arnold, it’s okay. She’s coming over to my house. Mom made her a cake,” Phoebe said. “I have a present for her, please don’t--plot.”

“Plot?”

“You know,” she continued, swinging her legs a little, “that thing you do when you see something unfair happening and you don’t agree with it and you go out of your way to try and make everything better.”

“But I can--”

“No, Arnold,” Phoebe told him, her voice firm. She met his gaze steadily, “This time you’ll make things worse. If you want you and Gerald can come over too, but that’s it. Nothing more.”

Before Arnold could answer her, he heard Gerald calling him back to his place. With one final look at her, then at Helga, Arnold ran out to the field mulling over the small girl’s words.

Helga smiled as Mrs. Heyerdahl placed the small pink cake in front of Helga, “Happy Birthday, darlin’. I’m glad you get to spend it with us.”

The smile slipped for a second, the prickling behind her lids back for a second, but she forced it away and the smile back on her face, “Thanks Mrs. Heyerdahl.”

She smiled back, squeezing her shoulder as she passed. A knock on the door distracted her from the candle’s flames.

“Pheebs?”

Phoebe smiled at her, “Hold on a sec, Helga.”

Helga watched her friend walk out of the room and when she came back she held a present in her hand that had not been there before and behind her were a confused Gerald and a sheepish Arnold.

“Phoebe?” started Helga, the warning tone only made Phoebe’s smile brighter. “What are they doing here?”

“Celebrating,” Phoebe said, and leaned in closer to Helga. “I promise, these two are the only ones that know.”

Gerald walked over and placed a hand on Phoebe’s shoulder before giving Helga a rare and sincere smile, “Happy Birthday, Pataki. Now c’mon, blow out those candles so we can eat.”

“Gerald,” scolded Phoebe as she smiled and dragged him away. “But you probably should, Helga, the candles are melting.”

Helga squared her shoulders, eyeing the flames for a few moments and taking in the melting wax on the pink and white striped candles.

“Don’t forget to make a wish,” Arnold whispered.

She met his gaze from over the cake and then squeezed her eyes shut, making her wish. The only wish. When she opened her eyes she could make out Arnold’s green through the darkness and when the lights turned back on he continued to look at her.

“Helga,” he said, walking up to her. “I’m sorry I forgot your birthday.”

“C’mon Football Head, it’s not like I expected you to,” she answered, with a small shrug and looked away from him. She stared at the slice of pink in front of her and let

“And that’s the problem,” Arnold said, sitting next to her. “Helga, no one should have their birthday forgotten. But…I’m gonna make sure to remember it from now on. I promise.”

Helga laughed, her eyes tearing up again, “Okay Arnoldo, whatever you say.”

Arnold frowned and placed his hand on hers, “Helga,” he said in that warning voice of his. “I won’t forget. Not again.”

She glanced down at their hands and then at the intensity in his eyes. She swallowed hard and nodded, a small, wobbly smile on her lips.

“Good,” he said and beamed. “Happy Birthday Helga.”

[meli-productions]

Ghosts of the Past

Got caught up!

Day 2: Fantasy

Arnold spent years in fantasies: climbing mountains of ice-cream and flying with his parents and romancing his girl of the week (month). Gerald had caught him more than once with a goofy smile on his face and half-lidded eyes as the fantasies played in his head.

But lately they had changed their content. The old fantasies of going out and finding his parents were filled with images of the map that was burned into his eyelids as he studied each corner over and over. It was memorized into his brain and his heart.

There was no girl. No Ruth or Lila or Summer or Miss Felter that made his mind feature future happenings of romance and wooing, but of memories and flashes of sharp blue eyes and a permanent scowl.

He remembered Hilda, the girl from his dream that wrote odes to the moon and the swirls of fantasies began clouding her image and the corners of that dark blue sky, but she broke the softening images with a low laugh.

“No, Arnold,” she said and placed a hand on his shoulder. She locked eyes with him and gave a sharp shake of her head. “It’s not me. Keep looking for your own moon-oding dream girl, will ya?”

It was the last time he saw Hilda in any of his fantasies.

Then it was Cecile. Not his actual pen-pal who still wrote to him though less frequently than before, but the girl he had dined with. The girl that had been haloed in light as soft violin music started playing.

He had found her red shoe while rifling through his closet and he started daydreaming. What would’ve happened had she stayed, had he not been running back and forth from her to Ruth? There she was: haloed in light that played off her soft blonde hair, the sad-looking blue eyes, and the equally as sad curl to her smile as he covered the hand that rested on the table.

“Cecile, I’m so glad that we got this opportunity,” he said, rubbing a circle on the pale skin.

She pulled her hand away from his grasp, holding it close to her chest, “I’m sorry, Arnold,” she said, her voice soft and sad. “But I’m afraid this won’t work.”

“But you said you liked me,” Arnold said, “Don’t you want to know if I like you too?”

This Cecile slid out of her seat and pressed a ghost of a kiss on his cheek, “No. Because I’m not real.”

Arnold was snapped out of his daydream with a jolt, the shoe still in his lap and he frowned. There was a frustrated groan that ripped past his lips as he stood, throwing the shoe back in the closet in a careless toss and he plopped down on his couch, frustrated.

Cecile never made her way into another daydream.

It had been Rhonda’s idea. Anything that turns out this way starts off as Rhonda’s idea. She had wanted them to go to Dinoland as a group, but as she saw the group that had gathered around her, ready to follow her anywhere (Curly at its lead), she had shook her head and promptly declared that it wouldn’t do.

She had ordered Nadine to make a list of the people that were with them and then cut them up.

“Alright, we’re drawing names from a hat,” Rhonda snapped and shook one of her plumed hats at them, “Who’s up first?”

One by one, the crowd started picking out names and dividing themselves accordingly. Helga’s shoulders slumped as Phoebe picked Gerald and Gerald picked Peapod Kid who in turn picked Phoebe and closed that group.

Rhonda looked over Arnold’s shoulder as he opened his slip and read the name, “Well, isn’t that quaint.”

Helga was unaware of anything as she reached in and pulled her own slip out, then her face paled and she crumpled the piece of paper before Rhonda could see it. She met Arnold’s gaze as he handed her his slip and saw as her face turned even paler.

“So, um, Helga, who else is going to be in our group?” Arnold asked, rocking back and forth on his feet.

She swallowed in a thick gulp, and handed him his slip back, “No one.” Then she shoved the balled up piece of paper in her hand and waited for him to read it.

“And it gets ever more quaint,” Rhonda said, smirking. “Just like before.”

Arnold blushed as he remembered the previous time something like this happened, and his mind started drifting. Helga and him, married, and her admitting maybe she wasn’t so terrible, maybe she…what?

Liked you, supplied his mind. And the married Helga’s angry sneer turned into that of Helga up on the rooftop of FTi, soft and dazed and dreamy.

“Snap out of it, Football Head,” snapped Helga, arms crossed across her chest. “I don’t suppose it’ll be completely terrible, right?”  

Arnold came to and saw the tiny blush that spread across her cheeks and nose. He smiled, “No, I guess not.”

There was a small smile that played on her lips before she stomped over to Phoebe who was giving her a wide-eyed and even-wider smiled look.

He watched her, the sun playing off her blonde hair as she fell in stride with her shorter friend. Then he was at Dinoland, gesturing a ‘after you’ to a blushing Helga and riding the rollercoasters with her and not having them get stuck on their way down.

“Arnold, you feelin’ alright, man?”

Arnold turned to Gerald, blinking away the daze of the thought away as he smiled, “Yeah, why’d you ask?”

Gerald smirked, “You had that look on your face, man. Y’know the look.”

The Look. What Gerald called his mushy, half-lidded, goofy-smiled, crushing--

Oh no.

[meli-productions]

The Doctor Is In

I really should’ve made a Peanuts joke...oh well. 

Day 3: Temptation

It wasn’t like she hadn’t had this desire before. It was Arnold and he was always nice and sweet and generous, but when he did it to her…well it suddenly became a whole lot harder to think straight.

She also believed with the utmost confidence that Simmons wanted nothing more in life than to have her spill every bean in her collective cans. That was the only reason she could come up with for the pairing up of her and Arnold for the fifth consecutive time.

And now there she was, sitting in his room after he had offered her some water, some snacks, and an ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable if we left the door open?’ and she wasn’t sure if she was going to survive any longer before she played out one of her numerous daydreams.

“Helga,” Arnold said, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Are you okay?”

Okay? Of course not.

“Of course I’m alright Arnoldo, just trying to figure out what we should do for this project,” answered Helga, balling her hands against the surface of the couch.

The pullout couch that she had been caught behind quite a few times and now she was allowed to sit on without fear of being caught and Arnold, moving around his bedroom on his rolling chair instead of sitting next to her.

“Oh, right,” Arnold said, as if he could’ve forgotten. Why else would Helga be sitting in his room? “Well, I was thinking that we should probably come up with what kind of business we should set up based on our strengths.”

Helga snorted, her panic smothered by her own contempt, “Right, because we have so many strength in common, right Football Head?”

He frowned, “Don’t say it like that. We have things in common.”

“Things, yes. But strengths, I seriously doubt it.”

“Baseball, we’re both good at baseball,” Arnold said, stopping the chair so it was right in front of her. “And football, and hockey, and bowling, and--”

“Okay, I get it, we’re wonders at sports,” interrupted Helga, a smirk playing on her lips. “How’re we going to make that a business?”

Arnold’s brow scrunched up but didn’t say anything, so Helga just huffed out a breath of laughter, “See what I mean. Face it we’re going to have to make something up from scrat--”

“We’re good at giving out advice,” Arnold said, his face serious. “Or I guess at meddling.”

“Arnold, do you remember last time I tried to give advice?” she asked, her arms coming up to cross in front of her chest.

He rolled his eyes, “That’s because you weren’t really trying.”

“Yes, I was,” murmured Helga.

Arnold scooted his chair closer to her, a sly smile curling his lips, “I know for a fact that when you have to, you can give good advice.”

Helga felt her face warming as his warm green eyes looked at her. He was close, closer than they’d been before and she could feel the edge of his breath on her nose and if she leaned any more their faces would be too close, too close.

No, no, no. Too many daydreams start this way. Too much like the Beach. Like the rooftop. Like the play. Too much, too much!

“I--I don’t know what you mean,” she said and leaned back and away from him. “Plus, how--how can we make that into a business?”

Arnold sat frozen as he had been before, staring at Helga with mouth slightly ajar before he ducked his head and cleared his throat.

“I’ve heard you give great advice. Rhonda’s finger sandwiches, for one,” he said, peeking up at her with a small smile, “Plus, Phoebe sometimes lets things slip.”

Tall Haired Boy. Helga knew that that little crush of Phoebe’s made her careless.

“And we can make that a business,” Arnold said, resting his head on his hands, “It’s called consulting, Helga, and it’s successful.”

“With the right person,” she muttered. “And let’s face it Arnoldo, it’s just not gonna be believable for someone like me.”

Again, Arnold frowned and before she knew how to react, he was sitting next to her, looking at her for a second before he tilted his head, “Helga, you need to stop saying those things about yourself.”

Oh, no. Please stop.

“You have strengths and--well, you could so be a consultant because you’re smart and--”

He really needs to stop or I can’t be held accountable for what happens. He was still talking but she couldn’t hear him. All she could see was the wide green eyes that were drooping by the minute, there were little flecks of lighter green, she didn’t know that, again with the breath that brushed against her and then, oh. Her hand, which had dropped back to the couch, had been covered by Arnold and--

Helga stood, yanking her hand away from his, “Do you think that your grandma has any more of those cookies? Man I am starved, maybe we should pick this back up tomorrow, y’know, fresh eyes and all. Alright, gotta run Arnoldo.”

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she said as she grabbed a cookie from Gertie and high-fived her before running out of the Boarding House. “I could’ve--oh, but I can.”

You could’ve, supplied her mind. He might not have minded. Didn’t look like he minded it all that much.

“Tempting,” hummed Helga, she muffled her sigh with the cookie. “But so not worth it.”